


impulse response

by nobodyyouknow, subtextham



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Casual Intimacy, Hiking, M/M, Nudes, Weed, can read any character as trans, chub yuuri, short yuri plisetsky, underage discussion and themes but no underage sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodyyouknow/pseuds/nobodyyouknow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtextham/pseuds/subtextham
Summary: Behind Yuri all the force of Newton's Third hums poised, and then some.OnlyOtaYuri until Chapter 3.In this AU, polyamory and open relationships are the default, while mono and closed are less so.





	1. latency i

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody here. Sub and I did this like [Sleepshiver](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6213880), switching back and forth.
> 
> Any character can be read as trans. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Yuri sees someone waving at him. He doesn’t look directly at him, but he can tell it’s the guy who caught his eye a couple times at orientation — the clean haircut and squared shoulders are a dead giveaway.

He’s pretty good at avoiding unwanted attention, though. Yuri is gonna walk right by the guy, pretend to assume he’s waving at someone walking behind him. He turns up into the aisle between two crowded long tables, walks just a bit faster. Then suddenly some clueless prick is standing up, walking down the aisle toward Yuri whose hands are full with a lunch tray, denying any possibility of a smooth escape. What’s worse, his eyes flick anxiously to the waving guy’s — and their gazes lock. Now the only escape is a deliberate rejection, but Yuri can’t have this stranger think he cares that much one way or another.

“Hey,” the dark haired man woofs, “have a seat.” He doesn’t shift his lunch tray back or offer any deferential gesture at all. Yuri counts this as a plus.

He sets down the brown tray and swings his leg over the table bench. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m Otabek,” Otabek doesn’t smile, exactly, but his eyes make a friendly shape as they take in Yuri and the contents of his lunch.

“I’m Yuri Plisetsky,” he holds out a hand, which Otabek takes for a quick shake. His hand is heavy and warm and makes Yuri feel like his whole body is holding it. “Why’d you wave me over?”

“I recognized you from orientation.”

Yuri clicks his tongue. “C’mon, don’t jerk me around.”

Otabek exhales deeply. “I figured you’d have no one to sit with. I didn’t want to be sitting here, alone, looking at you sitting over there, alone.”

“No one asked you to look,” Yuri mutters, trying his best to be a shit.

Now Otabek smiles, just a little flash of teeth, before he looks down at his plate and pokes at some pasta with the heavy cafeteria fork.

They chat for a bit about new student orientation and about what a pain in the ass it is to be spring semester transfers. Otabek tells Yuri his major, but a minute later Yuri can’t remember what he said because he was too distracted by how he said it.

“Women’s studies,” says Otabek two days later at lunch again. “And you?”

Yuri blinks, then decides to simply answer the question. “Physics,” he states. “I just wanted to be a math major, really, but I’d make a shit teacher.”

“Math isn’t a common major, is it?”

Yuri hesitates. “Maybe not.” Otabek is quiet, pretending to watch his food.

“Math is beautiful,” Yuri states objectively, testing the waters, his eyes drilling into Otabek’s. “It doesn’t always come easy, but ultimately, it’s always been maths that get me amped. I‘ve been able to handle the courses so far, at least.” He picks up his drink and before he takes a sip says, “How about you, what do you wanna do with your major?”

“Sports journalism.”

“Yeah? What kind of sports do you like?” Yuri asks, doing his best in the way of smalltalk.

“Figure skating and speed skating are my favorites, but I like a lot of the winter sports. Figure skating was my life when I was a kid.”

“How was it?”

“I did some competitions, but I had to quit when my meniscus started fraying.” Otabek drinks some more water before continuing. ”Had to go to physical therapy, too. Eventually, they told me I should stop. But hey, everyone's gotta let go of something, y’know?”  
  
“Damn,” Yuri utters, trying not to imagine it. “I’m sorry.”

Otabek shrugs. “It was rough, at the time. I wasn't into PT at first because of my situation, but by the end of it I knew I was gonna miss the routine. I asked my physical therapist what I could do that would be like our sessions. She suggested strength training, so I’ve been doing a little of that ever since. I keep to building and maintaining bodymass, though, and some light yoga. If I were to get into lifting, I might just end up fucking up my knee again.” He looks away, going further down a rabbit hole. “Better not do any more ballet, either.”

Yuri perks up. “Huh? You did ballet?”

“Yeah, a little. Helps with skating. Why, did you?”

Yuri grins ear to ear, very suddenly in his element. “Dude, I looked for an instructor in the city before applying here.”

“Oh, is that so.”

“Yeah, uh,” now something's got his tongue and he doesn't know why, but it's getting on his nerves. “You could come by sometime and check it out, if it wouldn't be bad vibes or anything. You just take the 9 and the S30.”

Otabek nods. “I’d be glad to.”

Δ

It's been a while since Yuri last had the jitters, a sensation he doesn't welcome back. He inspects himself closely in the mirror to avoid looking at Otabek, sitting silently against the wall of the dance studio. Yuri is dressed in all black tonight. He tried to get his stretches out of the way before Otabek showed up, but still had a few more to get through when Otabek walked through the door. The instructor hurried over to meet him and try to talk him into joining, “We’re always looking for strapping boys! We were all too happy to take Yuri, here.” She flashed big bright smiles.

Yuri feels irritated again just thinking about it. He shakes his head, watches his hair fall back into place, and sinks into his first plié.

Six other students attend class the night Otabek is visiting, all women save for one boy. Yuri keeps wanting to check where Otabek’s eyes are, but the few times he looks at his reflection in the glass he’s looking back at Yuri, so he makes himself stop checking.

“You ever do recitals?” Otabek asks, once Yuri is toweling off his face and neck.

“Not really, or uh, every now and then. Actually, when I was a kid, I used to do it a bunch.” A sudden memory twists his face in annoyance. “But even if anyone pushed me to compete, there's no way. I made a promise to someone.” He starts waving his arms around, gesturing. “So, it's a passion; a pastime; not a meal ticket.” Otabek nods.

“Want me to get this?” Yuri watches him go ahead and lift Yuri’s overstuffed bag like it's air, and swallows.

They take the city buses back to school together. “You’re very flexible,” Otabek says once they’re out of the dark cold and settling into neighboring seats. “Even when I was a kid I couldn’t get anywhere near your warmup routine.”

Yuri doesn’t know what to say that won’t embarrass the both of them, which pisses him off. He can’t tell if Otabek is teasing him, or even leading him on. He doesn’t know why he would, but the thought chews at him nonetheless and it makes him feel the chill a little sharper through his winter coat and scarf.

“It didn’t help my career out any,” Otabek continues, drifting somewhere else, gazing toward the front of the bus absently.

Yuri ends up saying nothing. When he gets into the shower later, he flips through a well-curated catalogue of memories from the day and jerks off to the ghosts of his lithe thigh pressed against a thick, hard one, the unexpected compliment, and the searing thought of dark eyes tracing the lines of his body while he stretched on the studio floor.

Δ

On the fourth weekend of school, Yuri gets himself invited to a party that winds up spanning several dorm rooms. Otabek gets roped in, as is wont to happen when Yuri does anything over the weekend. When a load of kids clustered around a television playing Dune break out a bag of weed and a pipe, Yuri has to firmly tell himself not to scamper out of the room with his tail between his legs. Дедушка doesn’t approve of any drugs, except vodka.

Yuri and Otabek sit on the couch behind them. As the smooth glass pipe and lighter are passed around the lopsided semicircle it is eventually offered to Yuri, who turns it down as casually as he can, and Otabek, who holds out his hand to receive both. Yuri watches closely as he takes an impressively deep drag and then hands it off to the next person, coughing lightly. The two other times it comes around he does the same.

After three goes, he’s rendered a little more prone to smiling and a little less communicative. First he becomes absolutely engrossed in the colorful film, then watches very closely when someone puts on music and Yuri gets up to dance with a group of girls. He’s not watching with any more focus or intent than he was in the studio, but in some way it feels much more obscene. Yuri is almost starting to have fun again when he notices that Otabek is beginning to doze off.

He walks over and hisses, “Hey, you alright?” When Otabek startles and gives him a look he doesn’t recognize, he repeats it, much more genuinely. “D’you wanna go back to your room?”

Otabek looks around, as if he’s trying to make sure there isn’t anything he’s forgetting, then looks up at Yuri and nods. Yuri takes his hand, helps him up — all five thousand kilos of him — and walks him to his dorm.

It’s not far, but it feels like way too long because Otabek hasn’t let go of his hand the whole time. He’s not sure if he’s just too stoned or what, but it’s difficult to be the one to let go. Suddenly, Otabek opens his mouth.

“Sorry I got like this.”

“What, you don’t like it?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, continues looking at the ground. “It’s no fun for you.”

That takes Yuri by surprise, and he snorts, loudly. “Otabek, I can handle my own ass — I mean, weren’t you enjoying, uh, whatever it’s like?”

He finally meets his eyes. “You’ve never tried it before?”

“Nope.” Yuri suddenly regrets admitting it. Being the youngest amongst his peers has made him more defensive about a lack of experience than he’d like.

“Well, now’s the time, yeah? If y’want.”

They’re silent for the rest of the walk to his door. Otabek fumbles for his keys, reads the numbers on them under his breath.

“Thank you,” he mutters, genuinely grateful. “See you tomorrow.”

“Uh, yeah. See you tomorrow.” Yuri sticks around until the door closes, then turns back.

Δ

[9:32 PM]: Help me with my statistics hw.

[9:34 PM]: are you in the caf

[9:34 PM]: In the back. Bring me a cup of coffee if it’s still out.

Eleven minutes later, Yuri places a cup of coffee with milk in front of Otabek. He didn’t waste any time getting over here. Math doesn’t wait.

He's pretty surprised to see him in exactly the same spot from dinner, still doing the same homework that made him mention he'd have to stick around a while longer. They sit together at lunch three days out of the week and eat dinner together almost every night, so he's already used to the habits that show up in the face of desperation, often onset by math. This time, he seems to be one tick from death.

“Yura, you’re a lifesaver,” Otabek bleats out. He looks terrible.

“That shit will kill you,” Yuri spits, pointedly ignoring the nickname and spinning the homework sheet around on the table, pulling it closer to read through the problem sets.

“But you’ll bring me back….”

Yuri shifts from standing with one knee on the bench, instead stepping over and settling down. Their knees bump under the table and his brows furrow. “What does that mean?”

“Please help me,” Otabek continues like the following line of a dirge. He sounds possessed, but Yuri is already taking pity on him. Their heads, one sable and one straw, bend over the center of the table as Yuri walks Otabek through his dutifully-taken notes. The steps to solve his homework problems are almost always in there, he just needs the handholding that Yuri is, for whatever reason, always willing to give.

When they’re done — and it doesn’t take that long, really, Otabek is getting the hang of this — Yuri takes the last cold sip from the cup. He doesn’t drink coffee, but waste irks him, and Otabek refuses to finish his coffee once it slips the last degree from lukewarm to cool. His heart gives a little jolt as they both stand up. Otabek says, “There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep like this.”  
  
“You did it to yourself, dumbass,” says Yuri without any joy.

“Come to my room for a bit?” Otabek catches his eye.

Yuri looks away, breathes “Sure,” and keeps step with Otabek all the way back to his dorm room. It's pleasantly warm, and Otabek takes off his sweater. He opens his laptop, puts on a video that they’ve seen a few times now. They both sit on his bed and fall prey to their favorite parts in spite of their familiarity; laughing makes the tension of the night fall away. Yuri has propped himself up against the wall with Otabek’s pillow, leaving Otabek to use the much smaller throw pillow against his back. The pillow smells like him, musky and sweet, and Yuri starts to feel a pleasant buzz he usually associates with taking a couple sips of his grandpa’s vodka. Otabek gets up and switches the video, one that makes Yuri laugh until his belly aches. This means Otabek starts to laugh too, his clumsy guffaws accompanying Yuri’s longer fits of giggling. Yuri thinks Otabek’s laugh is probably the only unattractive thing about him and takes wicked pride in having even tangentially caused it.

“Oh my fucking god,” he murmurs, pressing a hand to his forehead and simultaneously sinking deeper into the neck of his hoodie, trying to hide the deep flush of his face. He’s so pale that he usually blushes to accompany any remotely strong feeling. He really wishes it didn’t happen. Otabek has never said anything about it, but Yuri wonders all the more if he notices it.

Even after all their laughter has subsided, Yuri finds he can’t school his face back into a respectable pout right away. Otabek puts on some music while he grins helplessly at the ceiling. He sighs from outside his field of vision and says, “I’m gonna smoke a bit to try to counteract the coffee.”

Yuri looks over to where he’s rummaging around under the bed. “Is that okay?” he asks, meeting Yuri’s eyes.

“What, you’re not gonna offer me any?” Yuri asks, meaning to joke. But it comes out rather like a challenge. In the next moment Otabek is bounding onto the bed, a mason jar in one hand and a lighter in the other.

“Of course you can have some. Do you really want to try?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He looks down at the jar. “Yeah. I’ll be fine by the morning, right?”

“Definitely,” Otabek is rolling up his sleeves. Yuri watches his hands as they work, gaze drifting down to the muscles shifting in his forearms. He pops the jar and pulls out a pretty glass piece. As Yuri gets a closer look, the insides seem grosser than he expected; when Otabek is done grinding a small nug he picked from the jar, he sprinkles some of it on top of the burnt residue remaining in the bowl. He nudges and presses on the contents, sprinkles some more, and repeats until it’s full.

Something occurs to Otabek, he makes a decision. He motions for the both of them to leave the bed, then grabs the heavy blanket on top and pulls it over them once they return. They’re close enough that Yuri can see Otabek clearly even in the low light. Otabek has his legs crossed while Yuri’s are kicked to the side, shins up against Otabek’s knees.

“I’ll go first, then I’ll help you,” he offers, meeting Yuri’s eyes again briefly. Yuri watches Otabek smoke and the close view affords far too many details. The shape of his lips, the flutter of his lashes and hollowing of his cheeks as he inhales are too much for Yuri to handle. He wishes he had anywhere else to look; he even considers taking out his phone.

Otabek lets a thick curtain of smoke gently lick out from his lips and gestures the piece at Yuri. Suddenly he remembers to feel excited and anxious. “Hold it like this, yeah. You cover this hole if you want more smoke. You got it. Take a deep breath, try to hold it for a few seconds before you let it out. You’re gonna cough, don’t worry about it.” Otabek clicks the lighter and holds the flame right up to the mossy-looking substance tucked into the end of the pipe. Yuri breathes in and the flame betrays gravity, bending towards the obscured hole. Their hands are bathed in the warm glow of the pipe; twin flames burn in his eyes.

Yuri does cough, the smoke scalds the back of his throat and once his cough gets going it’s even worse. Otabek hands him a water bottle at some point. He smokes a bit more while he waits for Yuri to be ready to go again. Yuri coughs less this time, and as he’s calming down Otabek finally returns the pipe to its jar.

“How do you feel?” he asks, lifting the blanket to let in a sliver of light.

“I don’t know,” Yuri manages to say over the much more honest “unbelievably horny” that spread over him a minute before.

Otabek itches the back of his neck where his close scruff is constantly growing in, then switches to rubbing his throat for no reason. Yuri considers again that they’re sitting very close together, the blanket trapping the heat mixing between them. Yuri has the passing thought that it almost feels like he's underwater. Their legs have been pressed together for however long they’ve been under the blanket; Yuri notes that he has really lost track of time. He slides a hand over Otabek’s firm thigh. Otabek takes his hand away from his own throat, allowing Yuri to watch it bob as he swallows. Gradually the distance between them closes. Yuri huffs a little breath across Otabek’s cheek, watching long strands of his own hair tickle the older man’s face. When Yuri looks down from this vantage point, he can see the exaggerated dips and mounds of Otabek’s pecs and abs through his thin shirt, and the collarbones revealed under his V-neck. Yuri glances back up to see that Otabek hasn't moved, however his focus is now trained solely on him. Their faces center, and Otabek kisses him.

Yuri is flooded with relief as he kisses back. They open their mouths to one another almost right away. He delights in the sensation of making out in what feels like slow motion. But when they stop to breathe -- and Yuri has no concept of how long they were kissing without a break -- he begins to giggle. “I don’t know why I’m laughing,” he says, breathless and apologetic.

“It’s okay,” Otabek says, his heavy hands coming up to cup Yuri’s face. Yuri can hear the smile in his voice. Then one hand dives into his hair and the other slides over to his neck. Yuri feels a shiver rip through him from these points of contact all the way down to his toes. He wills his jaw to go slack just in time to receive another burning kiss. He’s aware that his heart seems to be in serious danger of erupting from his chest and that his hands itch to touch Otabek. First he grabs his bare forearms, thumbs massaging and digging into muscle mercilessly, then he twines his hands up through Otabek’s arms to hold his face and neck like he holds Yuri’s.

Yuri doesn't notice when the blanket finally slips off them, but Otabek’s features are made that much more stark in the light, almost in a chiaroscuro. Otabek’s hands have traveled down Yuri’s back to settle on his waist. Yuri is kneeling, his hands feeling paths along Otabek’s shoulders and back. He can’t remember being in a makeout session that lasted this long. In his mind’s eye he sees the hard tops of Otabek’s thighs, the promising front of his jeans. Without breaking their kiss, Yuri clambers right into his lap.

For one glorious moment strong arms encircle him, pulling their bodies flush and causing a choir to erupt in a major chord. Just as quickly, he is being dumped back on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Otabek says. When Yuri finds his eyes, he looks panicked. “Y’know -- it’s your first time smoking ‘n all, and I’d rather do this sober.”

Yuri stares at him, still lying on his back where he was tossed. “Do _what_ sober?” He says softly, almost to himself, as his brows furrow.

Otabek doesn't answer him. “It’s late,” he insists, standing up. Yuri chases him to his feet, holds him fast by his stupidly built biceps and plants another wet kiss, in an attempt to fix Otabek where he is any way he can. Otabek’s hand sneaks from the side of Yuri’s waist to his chest and gently, firmly pushes.  
  
“I’ll walk you back.”


	2. latency ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have changed.

It’s a bright, grey morning and Otabek starts to get the feeling he could just keep walking. It’s mild for a winter day so he’s taking advantage of the dry-enough conditions to go for a hike. He’s nearly alone in the woods; there were only two other cars at the trailhead.

Bare maples seem to lean in towards the trail, toward him. He finds his footing among hunks of granite dotted with pale and orange lichens. He frowns at the orange growths because he knows they’re an indicator that the air quality is poor. Almost as soon as he considers this he comes around a bend to an overlook. The adjacent peak is a rich grey striped with pale brown hardwoods and a scattering of dark conifers. Otabek finds the road down below snaking through the trees, follows it with his eyes to the college all in pale blues and south of that the town. A single car travels north on the highway.

He doesn’t linger long before continuing on up the trail. It’s best not to let his heart rate drop when he’s feeling this strong. The trail continues to sharply climb up over a huge exposed rock face, so sheer that he has to use his hand to hoist himself up part of it. A switchback and more incline follows. He passes through a stand of shrubby red pines taking care to place his feet well along exposed roots rubbed raw. The sound of his own panting catches his attention and he thinks of his chest rising and falling last night as Yuri swayed toward him, pale lashes lowering over pupils blown wide.

Otabek indulges in the memory, so fresh that he can still feel Yuri’s hand resting on his thigh and, so fleetingly, his weight in his lap. Yuri has been a good friend to him, and Otabek has no talent for making friends.

The sparse pines give way all at once and the trail vanishes — he steps out onto the first peak to the east of the highway. He is still alone, so picks out the highest point, steps up and turns to each of the four directions and scans the distance. But visibility isn’t good; he can hardly see anything beyond what was visible at the lower lookout point.

A little disappointed by the immediate result, he lets himself get distracted again. Otabek had said something pretty forward before he pushed Yuri off of his bed and out of his door last night. All the weeks he had been allowing himself to jack off to thoughts of the blonde were now coming around to torture him: The thoughts of everything he wants to do to Yuri — and everything he’d like to see Yuri do to him — are fully fleshed out and all too easy to call up.

Ultimately, he comes to the conclusion he can probably make it back down the mountain with plenty of time to beat it again before his first class of the day.

Δ

“I didn't know you skate.”

Yuri skids to a stop. “What, do you need to know?”

Otabek doesn't respond at all and for once the silence has Yuri wigged out, so he follows with ”I'm fucking, where you headed?”

“I’m taking a walk. Might as well check my mail while I’m out.”

Yuri pushes forward and catches up when Otabek keeps walking. “What about later?”

“There’s a lot of work I need to do. Didn’t get around to it over the weekend.”

“Oh.” He lets the steady grind of the wheels and occasional clunk of the sidewalk fill in the rest of his sentiment. Slowly coasting like this lets him get lost in his head, and he takes in the surroundings as he goes from thought to thought. It’s a brisk day, and his hands in his pockets pull his jacket tight against his body to minimize intrusions of the sharp, strong wind. As he builds up this physical resistance, he inadvertently weaves mental walls, getting tangled in the thoughts. It hasn’t taken long for him at all to become familiar with these winding paths, all the buildings, the hordes of students. He’s used to moving around quickly, constantly adapting, but recently he’s been experiencing an unfamiliar itch for stability.

“Yura.” That finally pierces his attention.

“Huh? Uh, what?” Otabek is looking right into him, it’s making him feel self conscious. While he’s looking up, his board jerks as it passes over a stick and he stumbles. He pulls his jacket closer and trains his focus back at the ground in front of him, his expression freezing over again. “Why are you calling me that?”

“Hm? I don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

Somehow that catches him off guard, which pisses him off even more. “Fuck off, that’s not what I said,” he growls, kicking up the board to walk alongside Otabek. “Anyway, you should drop by the party in the lounge later.”

“I can't.”

“But it's my birthday,” Yuri says, looking straight at Otabek. He is rewarded with a look back.

“Is it, now?” Otabek flashes a rare smile. “Well, happy birthday. In that case, should I bring something? Some pastila from town? Or, how about Prague cake.”

Yuri’s mouth begins watering, “For future reference I’ll always take the Prague cake, but no, the food is all set for tonight. So, you’re coming?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, but I need to think of a gift… How old are you now?”

“Eighteen.”

“C’mon,” Otabek laughs, looks over at him...slows down, stops.

“Yuri…”

“Yeah.”

“No, Yuri, why didn't you tell me?”

“Because,” he stomps his foot, “now people are finally gonna stop ignoring me, disrespecting me, treating me like I don't even exist just ‘cause I'm _not eighteen yet_ ; and yeah, I've been enjoying not feeling that way around you, and the way you treat me. The way we are,” he finishes quietly.

Otabek is still processing all the information; going over memories and events. “You...and I… We, we almost….” He shakes his head. 

“What? We almost what?” Yuri closes the distance between them. He looks down at the ground, chews his lip, looks back up. “If it wasn't obvious, I really fucking wanted you, too.”

That seems to finally do something to Otabek. After a moment, he puts his hands in his pockets and resumes walking. Yuri keeps pace. “You probably don’t think I’m a creep,” he snorts in, alleviating some of the irritation from the cold, “though I sure feel like one.”

They keep walking but stay silent. Yuri knows he should have been ready to be more comforting, or reassuring, but he’s not great at that sort of thing and he doesn’t like how Otabek keeps looking at him. His glances are vacillating between the distrust a kicked dog might show and the sort of sharp, critical glare he only tolerates from his grandpa. The two come at length to the mailboxes and Otabek takes out a single envelope that looks like a bill. Yuri has a birthday card that he can guess is from a fellow dancer at his old studio, Mila. He doesn’t open it in front of Otabek.

The silence drags on as they make their way back towards the dorms. Yuri feels himself getting more and more tense until Otabek finally expels a heavy sigh and says, “What does this say about me?”

“Oh my god,” Yuri laughs bitterly, turning to the sky and readying a tired mantra, “it doesn't say _anything_ about _you_ , dude. ‘Sides, I can handle myself.”

“I know that you can handle yourself,” Otabek tells Yuri, his voice dipping a little deeper and softer so Yuri knows he means it genuinely. His stomach is still in knots from their long silence though, so he doesn’t speak for fear he’ll say something ungrateful.

After a while Otabek says, “You must have graduated high school early.”

“I was sixteen,” Yuri tries not to sound defensive.

Otabek nods, considering it all. “I guess I'm at least glad you didn't lie to me.”

“Yeah. I mean, not that I haven't done it before. Totally worth it, though.”

Otabek pretends he didn't hear that.

Δ

When he turns the corner into the narrow hall, Otabek doesn’t expect to see two bodies suspended in the air, inching along the ceiling. They’re facing away, but as he gets closer, he recognizes one as Yuri. The other seems familiar, though he can’t be sure. He makes his way under them; once he comes into view, Yuri seems mildly surprised to see him.

“What’s good?” Yuri has a huge grin on his face.

“Hi!” The other boy looks him over with big, shining eyes. “Oh! I think I’ve seen you before.”

“I think so, too,” Otabek confirms, watching them. “Were you at ballet with Yuri?”

“Yeah! I’m Phichit,” he laughs. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Hey, get up here, you wouldn’t believe how cool everything looks.”

Otabek looks at the wall, then back at Yuri. “No.”

“C’mon, a different perspective’s good for you.”

Otabek gives it a couple knocks. “This is drywall.”

“So?”

“This is not going to end well.”

“We’ve been fine. Come on.”

He looks at the two doubtfully, but ultimately, he starts taking off his shoes and socks. One at a time, he places his palms solidly on the walls, still feeling it with suspicion. Everything goes fine — until he kicks his feet up and busts two holes in the drywall.

“Shit!” Yuri nearly has a heart attack, but Otabek catches himself with the hold he has on the wall above, gingerly removes his feet, and lets himself down slowly. Yuri on the other hand jumps down like he’s escaping a fire. “You okay, dude?”

“We need to let someone know about this,” Otabek says, dusting off his feet.

“Ohhh hohohoh no, we don’t need to let _anyone_ know about this.” Yuri brings him his shoes and socks. “I’m sure this shit happens all the time. They know how to take care of it.”

“I’m responsible for it, though.”

“Isn’t it too late to report it, anyway?” Yuri whips out his phone, checks the time. He sees he suddenly has several Instagram notifications, so out of curiosity, he opens the app.

It’s a picture of him, Otabek, and the two huge holes, from the dramatic perspective of the ceiling. It’s already getting likes.

“Phichit, did you seriously tag me in this?”

Δ

It’s already been dark for a good hour when Yuri strolls across the campus with his headphones on. He’s on his way to visit with Otabek, or to impose himself on Otabek, though he didn’t get a message asking him _not_ to come over. It’s not his penchant to overthink things, but after their tense conversation a few days ago he had felt on guard, if not anxious.

His friend had been a little quiet at the party, but he did show up. Yuri first caught sight of him looking effortlessly handsome as always on the couch in the common area, talking only occasionally to some other boys. He didn’t pause to think before cutting through the crowd to stand in front of him, probably doing something cool like putting one foot up on the low coffee table and grinning, though he honestly can’t remember. What he remembers is Otabek standing up, suddenly in his space and reminding Yuri that he’s a little bit taller and maybe two times as broad. “I’m sorry, I truly couldn’t think of a gift at all.”

“Whatever, loser.” Yuri waved his hand, donning a smile. “Want some food? You got all dressed up, huh? I like your sweater.” Yuri’s eyes bask in the jagged lines, yellow crisscrossing with red and black.

“Yeah? It’s pretty bright,” Otabek said, vaguely self conscious.

“You don’t like it?” Otabek shrugged and sniffed. “Well, there you go.”

“Hm?”

“There’s my present. Give me that.” Yuri tugged on the sleeve. 

Otabek got a look of wonder on his face as if blessed with the blunt command. Then he looked away, smiled, and pulled the sweater right over his head. Yuri wasted no time in trying it on. It had gone over easy with all the give, just a quick pull before a puff of blonde appeared from the collar. The sleeves went to Yuri’s knuckles and the V-neck sagged to one side, wings of cotton draping from his underarms. Yuri raised his arms and looked down at himself in the bright zigzags, then back up at Otabek, grinning. “Yeah, dude! Now c’mon, I’m gonna feel weird if you don’t eat something.”

As it happened, Yuri wore the sweater for the entire rest of the night, right up to and including when they parted — Yuri with a casual whip of fingers, and Otabek with a thumbs up, in turn.

Yuri uses his keycard to open the door and takes the stairs up to Otabek’s floor two at a time. He pulls off his headphones at the last second and knocks rapidly on the unadorned door. Otabek opens the door in this perfectly timely manner, not too quick as to seem eager, not a second too slow as to seem lazy or uncaring. It’s so annoying. His eyebrows are raised a fraction of an inch indicating that he is surprised. He says, “Yura.”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

Otabek steps back to let Yuri take the door and come in. He hesitates uncharacteristically, then walks over to his desk and picks up a small rubber ball. “Nope.”

“Oh. My bad, then.”

“I don’t mind you stopping over,” Otabek reassures. He pops the ball at the wall next to the window, _thunk_. 

“It’s shitty to just show up, though.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Don’t you have morning classes?”

Otabek throws the ball in the air, traces the trajectory with his eyes, catches it. “Not on Monday.” He keeps repeating the motion as he glances over at Yuri, but there’s a problem.

Yuri is bent right in half, messing with one of his shoes. He notices Otabek fumble with the ball — it zigzags across the floor, neatly avoiding his reaching fingers. Yuri’s hand darts through his legs to pluck the ball out of its trajectory, passing by his heels some five inches away. When he straightens up and looks over his shoulder, holding up the ball triumphantly, Otabek is staring dead into his ass.

He feels a familiar thrill of victory in his chest, places the ball back on the desk without moving. “See something you like?” With a small, slow movement he shifts his hips.

“Wow,” says Otabek, not looking away. Yuri wants to taste that “wow”, wants to know the shape of it with his own mouth.

So he does, spinning around and striding the length of the room to capture Otabek’s mouth with his own. He winds his arms around his neck to make Otabek tilt his head down and give himself more control. As they kiss they lean into each other, and Otabek’s hands come up just under Yuri’s shoulder blades, easing him in even closer. Yuri very consciously cocks one leg out to the side and presses the inside of his thigh and knee against Otabek’s leg where his muscles feel wound tight as a spring.

Otabek’s hands come alive. He runs them firmly up and down Yuri’s back, then they’ve both come up to grip his shoulders, plunge into his hair. Then they’re ravaging his torso again, fingers seeking out every hollow below every rib through his t-shirt, smoothing way down his hips but shying away from his ass, and Yuri realizes way too late that his lips have stopped their motion and all he’s doing is panting into Beka’s open mouth.

His mind is a tranquil, pleasant blank but his competitive nature manages to spear through it. He redoubles his effort to kiss the life out of Otabek Altin, tightening his arms even further around his neck and sliding one hand up to cradle the back of his head. Otabek keeps touching him all over and Yuri ends up holding his face with both hands. When their hips align Yuri feels a sharp intake of breath, then a sharp pain as Beka bites his lip. Hot hands sneak under the back of his shirt. Yuri is burning but somehow his immediate instinct is to get Otabek’s top off as soon as possible. He moves his hands to the bottom of his sweater and lifts it, trying to get the message across, shivering as his knuckles brush over half-learned dips and mounds. Sure enough, Otabek leans back, moves to sit on the bed in front of Yuri, and breaks eye contact only to pull off his sweater. 

Yuri nearly chokes on his tongue. Sure, he had been admiring Beka’s fit-looking form since the day he met him. Sure, he had paid attention when he said he worked out, and he had marvelled at how solid his back and arms felt under his hands a few nights ago. It seems he just wasn’t prepared for how much he was going to like the view. Before Yuri even has a chance to get it together, Otabek is also pulling off his tank, and now Yuri is really at a loss. His mouth just might be hanging open.

“Yura,” Otabek says, low and seeking. Yuri snaps out of it enough to take a few steps forward and sit on the bed next to him, crowding into his side. He kisses his neck, opens his mouth to taste the clean smooth skin there. Otabek’s arm is around him, his hand tugging at his shoulder, but before he can turn and capture Yuri’s mouth with his own Yuri ducks down and presses his lips and tongue against one perfect nipple. Otabek makes a stilted little sound; when Yuri opens his eyes and looks up at him his lips are pursed and his whole face is flushed. Good. He smoothes a hand down Otabek’s abs and swirls his tongue. Though he hears him sigh Yuri doesn’t catch Otabek’s expression because his eyes have fallen shut again. It’s impossible not to put his full attention to something this good.

The hand on his shoulder slides down his back and Otabek’s other hand weaves into his hair, cups the back of his head, gently pulling him up so their mouths can meet again. Blood is pounding between Yuri’s thighs, the potential energy screaming to be turned kinetic. He breaks away to swing a leg over and grind against Otabek’s lap.

Otabek’s hands go right for his ass. Broad palms followed by short fingernails sweep in patterns on his flanks and cheeks; fingers trace down his crack and tease at more sensitive spots. “Fuck,” says Yuri, smiling and very loud, “fuck!” But his friend shows no signs of relenting; instead he rubs his hands maddeningly up and down Yuri’s thighs and finds his mouth to kiss him quiet.

“Yura, these pants drive me crazy,” Otabek mutters in his ear and Yuri would laugh if he weren’t so lost in the action. Otabek’s mouth finds his throat where he kisses, licks, and bites, while Yuri turns his head into it, panting, stroking his hands up and down the naked, solid back. Otabek hums something that sounds like it might be words.

“What?” Yuri demands.

A chill passes over his throat as Otabek shifts back and grunts just a bit more clearly, “Stand up.”

Yuri is ready to hop off the bed at Otabek’s behest but finds himself being guided to his feet up there on the mattress. His hand thuds against the wall as he steadies himself. When he looks down to assess the situation he finds he still straddles the older man’s lap and his crotch is dangerously close to his gorgeous face. His sweats are tugged down — though his fitted boxer briefs stay in place — and Beka’s hands come up to cup his ass again. His breath gusts across Yuri’s exposed thighs and his dark eyes flit up to Yuri’s and then back to the front of his briefs. If Yuri has come to expect anything of Otabek it is the care and patience with which he approaches each new situation. He’s taken aback by the absence of that chill as in the next moment his tongue presses hot against Yuri through his underwear. He’s so worked up and swollen already that the abrupt sensation is ideal, everywhere it goes, and a little sob escapes his throat. “Oh, Beka,” he says, thoughtlessly, finally vocalizing the nickname as he runs his fingers through thick dark hair. “Fuck.”

He pushes him off, then, though he’s careful not to be too rough. His heart is racing and his head is spinning and he loses his footing and half-falls down onto his ass. But Otabek catches him, and pulls him to his left again, holding tight while he reaches across with his right hand and starts to touch Yuri. Yuri ends up on one knee with his right arm around Beka’s shoulders, holding on for dear life. “Yeah, like that,” he gasps, staring down at his hand working him and at his own thrusts into the touch. “Wait,” he tries to push his briefs down with one hand. Otabek sees what he’s trying to accomplish and tugs them off so quickly and neatly that he shivers.

“Oh, _Yura_ ,” he says, like it’s mundane to sound awed by the sight of someone’s junk. At least Yuri now has concrete confirmation that Otabek is a perfect perv. Yuri’s arm is still around his shoulders; Otabek uses his nose to push up the sleeve of his t-shirt and expose the skin of his bicep, where he leaves a massive hickey while he works Yuri to completion. Yuri’s head lands heavily on Otabek’s shoulder, diffusing some of the energy coursing through him. He comes in his hand, thrusting erratically through until he’s just rocking feebly and trying desperately to catch his breath.

“Alright, okay,” he says more to shake himself out of it than anything, taking his weight off Beka’s shoulders and pushing his hand away. Just as quickly he catches his mouth, kissing him as deeply as he can. He shifts down to sit on the bed and pulls away so that he can see the front of his jeans to undo the buttons there and unzip them. Otabek slides them off while Yuri drags his hand up the inside of his bare thigh, watching the pained expression he elicits before plunging his hand right into his loose boxers. Otabek sighs with relief, then finds his mouth to kiss him again, long and slow. Yuri ends up straddling one of his legs this time, resting his bare ass on Otabek’s thigh and his knee gently against his crotch. A trickle of sweat rolls down the center of his chest and Yuri stares at it, and at the blissful expression on his face. Pretty soon Otabek is moving Yuri’s hand, pushing it farther down between his legs while he finishes himself, the fingertips of his other hand digging into one of Yuri’s asscheeks hard enough to leave marks that he’ll carry around for over a week.

Yuri becomes gradually aware of the comforting feeling of soft sheets across his legs. He doesn’t recall falling asleep, but when he stirs the lamp is off somehow and Otabek is softly snoring beside him. He looks around in the dim, blue light. It smells like moisture and ions; the faint sound of a morning shower fills the room with presence. Yuri hesitates to open the curtains in case the movement wakes Otabek, but his eyes begin to gently open anyway, apparently roused by Yuri’s own alertness. Now that Yuri has the opportunity, he leans in to give Otabek a couple fond kisses on the nose. He can't help but go for a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips while he's at it. Otabek doesn't react, but seems vaguely pleased, at peace. He closes his eyes and pretty soon he's back asleep.

Yuri decides that's as good a time as any to carefully climb out of bed and gather his belongings. He checks the clock — there’s still a little time before class, but as tempting as it is to remain here enjoying the moment of vulnerability and the ambience, he resolves himself to step out into the rain. The door clicks gently as he leaves. He flips his hood in preparation for the outside and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

Δ

“You never fuck up.”

“That’s what I'm saying. It's not normal. I don't fuck up like that,” he states flatly.

“It’s not normal to fuck up an arabesque penché?”

“At first, obviously,” Yuri stretches out and throws his arms behind his head. “Not in a long ass time, though.” 

The bus honks and stops suddenly. Otabek’s feet slam ahead for support; Yuri’s arms whip out to catch himself on the seat ahead, his eyes wide.

“What the fuck?” They watch some frantic-looking students jog across the front of the bus. “Assholes. The crosswalk’s right there.” He settles back into his seat and throws a leg over Otabek’s lap as the bus wheezes back into a crawl.

Otabek looks at Yuri’s leg, then at Yuri.

“What?”

“Is this the place?”

Yuri snorts. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re not embarrassed?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Yuri sighs, leaning against a solid shoulder. Otabek glances up; some of the more curious and stimulation-thirsty people are looking, interested by the odd movement. He turns his focus to the window next to him, hoping that if _he_ minds his own business, others will, too.


	3. determiner i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have changed.

Yuri and Otabek slowly enter the cafeteria; this time of day, the line tends to exceed the door and wind around the entrance. Yuri props his skateboard in the enclave near the cashier then swipes his card, followed by Otabek.

They finally reach the buffet area, where the crowd begins to dilute. Yuri grabs a cup and goes for the water, but suddenly stops on a dime and bristles instead of filling it.

“Oh! Sorry,” says a kid Otabek doesn’t recognize, another international student.

“No, I mean, I didn’t even want it,” Yuri snaps, and looks like he’s about to say something else before instead turning around and rushing over to the soda machine. The other student’s eyes linger briefly, but ultimately he resumes his task of filling his cup. When Otabek follows Yuri, he’s pressing on the water tab.

“Something wrong with that water?” Otabek asks inanely, probing. Yuri doesn’t even look back at him, just grabs a plate and starts to fill it, so Otabek follows suit.

They sit in their usual spot in the corner by the windows and Yuri immediately shovels in as much food as quickly as he can manage, like it would be immensely dangerous for him to have an empty mouth.

After a while, Otabek asks anyway, probing again, “Did you recognize him?”

He’s surprised when Yuri responds, with a delay. “We’re in the same class.”

“Oh?”

“Intro PDEs.”

“Do you like it?”

Yuri shrugs. “I guess.”

“How about him?” Yuri involuntarily looks up at where he’s been surreptitiously keeping an eye on the classmate before finally meeting Otabek’s eyes.

“What _about_ him?”

Otabek doesn’t say anything else at first, so Yuri goes back to eating. When Otabek finishes what’s on his plate, he says, “I’ve only seen you be that way around me.”

“What way?" He says rather automatically, like he's back to being a kid with crumbs all over his face, and regrets it immediately; so he recenters himself, his atmosphere changes, and he says gravely, "I just don't get it,” and begins to laugh panickedly, “I mean, it doesn't make sense. I don't know. Fuck!"

Otabek taps on the table by Yuri’s plate to get his attention again. "You don't have to get it. You just have to decide what to do with it."

Yuri begins poking at his food. “He doesn’t seem to like the class much, though he pays good attention.” Otabek stares out the window, watching the people trudge through the snow.

"You should help _him_ with his homework sometime."

 

Δ

“Yuri?”

He drops his hand, letting his arm rest upwardly on the desk. “The step response is the integral with respect to time of the impulse response.”

“Yes!” The teacher turns back around, filling in Yuri’s answer then gesturing with a dramatic flourish. “And conversely, the impulse response is the derivative with respect to time of the step response.” He faces the class and claps his hands together. “Any questions?” The class stares back at him, half of them with bags already in hand. “No? Remember, we have a test next week!” Chairs scrape, a flurry of students file out the door. “Have a good weekend!”

Yuri grabs his belongings and positions himself directly in front of his classmate, who seems to be slowly, painfully gathering his things. He looks up, startled.

“Hey. Want to study together?” When his expression changes to a frantic mix of confused and nervous, Yuri adds, “This weekend. You got time, right?”

“I do, yeah…” He’s still waiting for Yuri to get to the punchline.

“Okay. Good. Where should I meet you, and when? Wait, here's my number. Text me so I have yours.” He opens his notebook, tears out a page, and carefully, legibly writes his number, then scribbles his name below.

“Ah, thanks.” He carefully files the piece of paper into his bag, even if he's unsure why he’s suddenly being thrown a buoy by the top student. “Is tomorrow alright?”

“Yeah. Let me know about the details. See you later.”

He hurries away, out the door, shoving his hands into his pockets. He assures himself he can carry a normal fucking conversation, damn it, and that everything will go fine, and that there isn't even anything to be so worked up about. He's not the one with anything to lose.

As mundane as they are, each message is a small thrill, and they wind up meeting in the library. They spend longer than they’d planned, and Yuri can't help but be obviously bored, in lieu of excessively staring at his study partner.

“Thank you very, very much for helping me, but I’m sorry I'm still not on top of this…” He scratches his head, rubs his face with his palms.

“A lot of the time, math only sucks ‘cause you're stressed out about it,” Yuri offers. “Basically, you're your own worst enemy. It’s about persistence, and concentration. Anything that can help to relax you will be to your benefit. Where do you usually study?”

“Well… Usually, I study in my room…”

“Let’s study in your room,” Yuri says, maybe a bit too quickly. “Tomorrow, if you have time.”

They split and Yuri drops his stuff off at his own room, but texts Otabek when a weird, uncomfortable feeling keeps gnawing at him. He meets him in the lounge, doing work on the couch, and stretches out next to him.

“So, everything went alright, with...?”

“Yuuri. He’s really beefing it, I dunno how he hasn't dropped this class.” Otabek keeps looking at him expectantly. “Okay, the other shit was okay. We're studying again in his room tomorrow.”

“In his room,” Otabek nods, impressed.

“Fuck off.” Yuri lays himself over Otabek’s lap and puts his hands over his face. “Ugggghhh.”

Otabek just smiles faintly.

 

Δ

As he steps into his room, one of the first things Yuri notices is the queen size airbed and stark lack of any other mattress or bedframe, which must have been moved. “It was a worthwhile investment. I sleep really well,” Yuuri explains, following his gaze.

“Can I see what you’ve been working on in the meantime?” Yuri pulls out the desk chair while Yuuri retrieves his dutifully labored-over example problems. He places his work on the desk and lands in the beanbag chair off to the side of the desk.

“You can see where I got stuck.”

“Shit, what a trainwreck,” Yuri agrees, making no attempt to lower his voice. Yuuri stares at his hands fiddling away, looking more ashamed than ever. “You ready to get started?”

Yuuri moves the beanbag chair over to the desk and leans on it with both arms as he and Yuri go through all the steps again from square one. Having done this before, despite being unable to reproduce it on his own, Yuuri catches on more quickly than in the library. The more comfortable setting does help, too. Yuri gives his classmate opportunities to utilize skills on his own, step by step; makes up other, easier example problems, illuminates the processes needed to tease out the individual points in the sequence leading to the solution, teaches him how to walk, watches him run. Time passes more quickly than yesterday, but a lot more progress results.

“I think I’m getting it now,” Yuuri states, though it’s more intended as a question.

“I think so too.” Yuri finally gets out of his chair, does some stretches, cracks his neck and back. Now that his attention isn’t solely divided between schoolwork and two big brown eyes, he can hear sheets of rain punishing the world outside. “Shit, what time is it?”

Yuuri checks his phone. “Pretty...late,” watching Yuri’s rising panic, he adds, “I-I would offer you a place to sleep, here, but there's just the airbed, and —”

“I don't mind,” Yuri says definitively, but he gets self conscious once he hears himself, so he follows with, “It’s just one night. I have class in the morning.”

Yuuri seems surprised, but not unpleasantly so. He nods and goes to prepare the bed, the sheets of which are still crumpled at one side from the night before. Yuri packs his own materials into his bag in the meantime. He contemplates assisting Yuuri, though he’s not sure how he’d go about it. He happens to see him self-consciously move a pillow amongst the blankets to the head of the bed, and from there stops watching and looks at his phone instead.

Yuri is thankful his clothes are comfortable enough to sleep in them as they are. When Yuuri goes to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, Yuri climbs in, taking the side Yuuri prepared for him, and immediately pulls all the covers over himself until he's just part of a head. He’s already turned towards the wall by the time he comes back, so he doesn’t see whatever else Yuuri is doing before bed; he tries to be quick and soundless, but the quiet, intermittent clattering still makes him curious. When the light goes off, Yuri hears one more soft clatter on the desk before Yuuri climbs into bed, which turns comfortably firm. He tugs at the sheets to cover himself. They lightly pull at Yuri’s body, and it messes with him way too much.

“Goodnight,” Yuuri bids softly, and Yuri manages to grunt in response.

Not a minute passes when Yuri rolls to face the ceiling. He shoots a glance to the side, another, then suddenly blurts, “What if we made out, do you wanna make out?”

“What?” Yuuri turns, partially, unsure he heard correctly even though it was said loud enough that he thought to be self conscious of the neighboring students.

“I don’t really get it, myself, but I’m really, into you, so there,” he admits more to himself than anyone else. “Unless you’re not into me, which, y’know, whatever.”

“Um...I am,” Yuuri confirms, flush rising. He fully faces Yuri, monitoring his expression while taking in his features. "Well, I mean, I dunno why you'd — I'm just, average, or probably below average..."

"Oh my god," Yuri interrupts, putting a hand on his neck and moving forward, "shut up asshole, I'm trying to make out with you," and shoves his tongue into his mouth.

The shock melts into satisfaction, which warms into want, and as Yuuri kisses back, Yuri slides his hand into his hair. It’s thick, and soft, and on some level Yuri wants to dive in and hibernate there indefinitely. Yuuri gets into the rhythm of it and something about his energy begins to change. His hands, which he had been keeping tight against his body, wander outwards one at a time — one to the small of Yuri’s back, the other tucking under the bottom of his shirt. There is a deliberate quality to the movement as Yuuri silently checks in with the blonde, but for every indication of approval, he advances, exploring Yuri’s delicate form. Some of his touches are firm, like the hand pressing into the dip between his ass and his thigh; others are light, like the fingers grazing over the subtle topography of his chest and torso. Yuri has no idea how long his heart has been pounding in his ears, but eventually the touches get slower, his kisses more languid, until Yuri realizes Yuuri is falling asleep on him.

“Hey.”

“...Sorry,” he blinks at him self consciously. ”I’m enjoying this a lot, but I guess it...really is late…”

“Turn over.” Yuuri does. Yuri sidles right up to him, wrapping one arm around his waist and letting the other stretch up to the messy, soft crown of his head.

Yuri buries his face between his shoulderblades and slides his left knee over Yuuri’s right. He huffs into the solid space in his back. Somehow even his smell feels like a nice hug.

“Thanks,” Yuri says into his back.

“Hm?”

He lifts his head. “For being into me too,” he mutters. “Or something. You’re a good kisser, actually.”

“Oh,” he says, genuinely surprised. “You’re good to kiss…”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, and really good looking and stuff…”

“Hey now, easy on the mushy shit.”

"Haha, I’m just saying; and besides…” He pauses. There’s an odd heaviness in the air.

“What?”

“I, uh, can't explain it, but being good at math is attractive," he says in a certain way; but Yuri doesn't press it, just files it away as he replaces his face against his back and drifts out of consciousness.

 

Δ

Otabek catches the outer door to the studio opening out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t expect to see, through the huge pane of glass, Yuri stepping inside. Even though Otabek is usually done recording by now and just setting up for the next show, it’s not that common for Yuri to drop by unannounced; he usually at least sends a warning text.

Otabek puts down his headphones and opens the inner door. “Hey.” Yuri drops his bag on the floor.

“Hey,” Otabek responds, closing the door, though Yuri won't meet his eyes. He proceeds to untie his shoes in that idiosyncratic way Otabek is starting to get used to, but tries not to take for granted. Instead of watching him the whole time, he sits on the far end of the couch. “Wanna tell me how it went?”

"I mean, we made out and whatever," Yuri takes off his shoes, puts them next to his bag. Otabek raises an eyebrow. "But he's so fucking annoying.”

“Yeah?”

“I hate cute fuckers who act like they're not cute," he mutters, planting face-first onto the couch, next to Otabek. Before he turns over, he grabs the pillow and clutches it close to his pink face.

“It’s funny that you have the same name.”

“No, it's not.”

“It’s interesting.”

“It’s not interesting, either,” Yuri discards the pillow to the side of the couch and sits up. “It’s fucking annoying.”

“Mm?”

“Like in class, sometimes the teach calls my name but oh, just kidding, it's not you.” He pulls out his phone. “He could at least call us by our last names, or anything, like a normal person. But no, nothing is fucking normal about him. He's fucking weird.”

“Hm. Sorry you don't like the class,” he laments genuinely.

“It’s not a bad class; he's not a bad teacher,” he admits. “He’s basically a good teacher. He is. He's just ditzy or something.”

Yuri angles his head at Otabek’s arms, and he lifts them. Yuri ducks between Otabek’s arms and his lap and wiggles into the space. Otabek rests his arms on his back.

Yuri keeps scrolling through his timeline. “It’s a really interesting class, actually. It can get boring, though. We’ve been going over old stuff sometimes, especially lately. But I know it’s ‘cause he cares about the students, tries to get everyone on the same page before moving on. I think he sees something in everyone.” He puts his phone down for a moment as he tries to remember. “At the beginning of the semester, he said something like, ‘I believe all of you can surprise me. I want to see you do something unexpected and surprise yourselves, too.’”

 Δ

 

Yuri walks into the donut shop — heads straight for the register, not even seeing the displays of donuts — and orders a lemonade. It’s habit by now, but the first time was simply a sense of obligation when trying to escape the rain with Otabek. Back then, it seemed like the most prudent non-water beverage to order. As it happened, it was the best lemonade he’d encountered in town thus far, so the tradition crept up on him. He always orders it without ice because he gets more to drink, and prefers it not too cold. He drinks some, then dilutes it with the soda fountain water until it’s not as concentrated.

As he sits and drinks, his eyes flick between his phone and the people on the other side of the broad window. There is always a sudden and mildly annoying spike in crowd density all over town as soon as there’s a sunny day, but it does make for more interesting people-watching, and he likes the way the clock tower across the park is illuminated from this angle. Sometimes he’ll take pictures of it as he’s waiting for the bus; it’s especially nice as the sun is setting, sliced in half by the shadow beneath the reach of the sun’s beams. As he continues to inspect the architecture the sound of what were apparently the last few drops startles Yuri, so he gets up to throw out his drink. Before he leaves, he steps into the bathroom.

As usual, the bathroom is nice: warm, spotless, with small pink lights on a string feebly pushing away the darkness of the secluded space. Lace hangs off the art on the walls, and various trinkets reside on the shelves next to them. It’s always very tempting to take a selfie or ten in here, especially when the shop isn’t busy; the lighting isn’t great, but Yuri makes it work by getting closer to the source. He pisses, washes his hands, and is about to redo his belt when he gets an idea. He faces the sink and begins taking pictures, but follows them with vague, teasing shots of his shirt being lifted, lips parted, hand suggestively dipping below his waistband, then drops his pants entirely and continues clicking away. The dim, pink light gives the impression that the whole room is blushing and heady as wine, an otherworldly sea Yuri is totally submersed in. The ceramic figures glint in the foggy background like photobombing fairies and the dark ceiling gives the impression of yawning space. Yuri lowers his briefs and leans against the wall, letting the foggy shadow left behind extend the suggestion of presence. He allows his expression to remain tranquil, but alert, a commanding sense of sharp awareness. This composure is utterly ruined when he hears the doorknob resisting in both directions, followed by a knock.

Yuri flushes the empty toilet in a rush and scrambles to replace his clothing. As soon as his phone is back in his pocket and his hands have been washed once again, he exits, maintaining eye contact with the floor on the way out. He heads to the bus stop and goes through the collection of pictures, mentally marking which ones to send to Otabek. He sends a few one at a time, saving some for later.

Like moving on to the next verse of a song he opens Yuuri’s text window, then realizes what he's doing and balks. Yuri experimentally flips through some of the pictures, sets them up in the window, then cancels the message and locks his phone.

 

Δ

“Okay!” The teacher turns off the projector, then leans on the desk behind him and pulls out a hefty stack of paper from his briefcase. “Please come get your tests as I call you. Crispino,” he announces with a nod towards the student. He picks out a packet with deft fingers and sets it facedown on the desk with a quirk of the wrist. He calls the next name before she’s even halfway to the front of the class.

Yuri is still packing away his belongings as the teacher continues calling out names. By the time he’s looking over his own test, Yuuri, already wearing his backpack, is in front of his desk with stars in his eyes and his test in his hands.

“Hey! Look!” Yuri looks.

“You got a B.”

“Yeah!!” When Yuri meets his eyes again, he can see Yuuri is actually crying a little. “This is the best score I’ve ever gotten in this class. I don’t have words for how grateful I am. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Cool,” Yuri mutters, looking over the paper. Sure enough, most of the red marks are around the material they didn’t manage to thoroughly cover, one way or another. “Glad I could help.”

Yuuri hooks his glasses on his shirt collar, wipes his eyes, takes care not to ruin the test. Yuri’s never seen him without his glasses before, but now that he has a frame of reference to compare with, he realizes how much his glasses do for him — they make him even more endearing, somehow. “Um…”

He can see where he’s going with this. “We could keep studying together, if you want.”

“Can we?” Yuri nods into his palm. “Oh, thank you! Thank you…” Yuuri puts his glasses back on and glances at the clock, bounces in place. “I have another class now, but, text me?”

“Yeah. See you.” Yuri watches him go, exhales through his nose.

Seriously, what the fuck? Why? He supposes it doesn’t matter. It works out for both of them.

When the sun sets the next day, he knocks on Yuuri’s door. Upon seeing his classmate, Yuuri immediately smiles down at him and opens the door further. “It’s good to see you! I’m really glad you stopped by.”

“I told you I was coming by, though.” Yuri puts his bag down and starts going through it for the relevant materials.

“Well…I’m glad, anyway…” Yuuri goes after his own work. In the meantime, Yuri looks around his room; he hasn’t actually taken a good look before, being too distracted and tense for a thorough examination of his surroundings. There are posters of someone he doesn’t recognize, some newspaper clippings, some small plastic figures that aren’t standing up at all, a large stuffed animal, some pretty looking marbles, custom curtains that look hastily sewn together, and a cerulean splash of clothes hanging up. Some parts of the room look like they were recently organized in a rush, such as the dressers and a mildly suspicious area behind the bed, while other parts appear to have been given less priority.

Yuuri at last locates the relevant work and places it on the one part of his desk that isn’t a total mess, then sits down, slouching nervously. Yuri pads over, picks it up, snorts.

“You’re really good at these trainwrecks. Why do you do this to yourself?”

Yuuri sinks deeper into his sweater. “Mm…”

“I mean, seriously, what’s your major?”

Yuuri looks up and meekly responds, “Linguistics.”

“Huh? Wait, really?” Yuuri nods. “Linguistics, huh? Well, shit, what are you doing in partial differentials?”

“Mmn,” something is on the tip of Yuuri’s tongue. “The… The, our, um...” He covers his reddening face with his hands.

“What?” Yuri puts the paper down on the desk and kneels down to Yuuri’s level, then climbs his upper body into his lap. Yuuri moves his hands down to peer at Yuri, looking up at him with glinting green eyes.

“Well, the… You, you know our teacher? He’s the RA here too, actually…”

“Uh huh,” Yuri had indeed noticed, and doesn’t like where this is going.

“When we had our first hall meeting,” he swallows and places his hands down, onto Yuri’s elbows, but tilts his head back at the ceiling. “Uh, well…”

“Something happen?”

“Not exactly,” he laughs nervously. Suddenly, he’s bashfully looking back at Yuri. “Um… Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

Yuri laughs. A snort, then a few chuckles. He stops when Yuuri is fixed with a dead serious and slightly mortified expression. “Okay. Sure, whatever you say.”

“He mentioned he teaches here,” he continues, gaze loose. “After the first hall meeting, I asked him what he teaches, and, and promised to myself I would take that class, no matter what. I, haha, completely didn’t expect he… Y’know, I had to take all the prerequisites, basically, over the past few semesters…” Yuuri meets his eyes again, looking like someone who climbed a mountain. “But I did it, and here I am.”

“So what you’re saying is, you wanted to bone our teach so bad you took a bunch of classes you didn’t like or need?”

“Hang on a second!” Yuuri places his hands on Yuri’s mouth. Yuri gently peels them away.

“Well? Was it worth it?”

“Definitely,” he says, not missing a beat.

“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear, though you’re still an idiot. At least you’re an idiot who knows what he wants.” He buries his face in his lap, nose wedging right between his thighs.

Yuuri looks over at the sheet on the desk. “Didn’t you come over to help me with the homework?”

Yuri doesn’t move. “Hm...?”

 Δ

 

"Can you believe it? He looks like my fucking dad." Yuri runs his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

Otabek smiles faintly. "Don't kinkshame him," he mutters to himself.

Yuri looks up at him. "Huh?"

He chuckles. "Nothing." After a little while he adds, “How old is he?”

“23.”

“Your teacher is 23?”

“Oh, Prof Nikiforov said he was 27 — he gave us his fuckin’ life story at the beginning of class. Dunno how old he is now.” The wind whips Yuri’s hair into his face again, which he again pushes away.

“Mm…” Otabek goes over the information for a moment. “Less difference than you and Yuuri, then.”

Silence. “It’s different, though.”

“How is it different?”

“It just is!”

“You’ve never liked a teacher before, Yura?”

The nickname catches him off guard, successfully softens him. “Not really. Old people aren’t my type.”

“But I’m old, and you’re into me.” Otabek takes a drag.

“Fuck, Otabek, you’re just like, three years older than me. That’s literally nothing.” The wind blows Yuri’s hair into his face for the last time — he tucks it behind his ears in frustration.

“It’s not ‘literally nothing.’”

“Okay, look, how long is human history?” Yuri stretches his arms out for emphasis. “And how long do humans live for? Shit, if you really think about it, I lucked out getting to fuck someone so hot who was only born _three years_ before me.”

“Couldn’t you make the same case for liking a teacher?”

“I just mean, _I’m_ not into old people, _I_ don’t get it, and I don’t need to, so whatever.”

Otabek offers the last of the roach to Yuri, who passes, so he finishes it himself and flicks the remains onto the ground. The wind quickly scatters the evidence. “Well, if we’re talking the whole span of human history, then don’t you think there might have been another, hotter version of me?”

Yuri looks at Otabek incredulously. “I don’t give a fuck,” he says flatly, and gives him a simple kiss on the cheek. “Anyway, let’s go in already.”

“Don’t you want to enjoy one of the first warm days of the year?”

“I know, but it’s not actually that warm yet and I don’t have my jacket. Come on.” He stands up and reclaims his socks from the grass beneath their toes, then slips his shoes back on. He extends a hand to Otabek, which he takes, though as usual, it’s Otabek who winds up hefting most of his own weight as he stands up. They walk back to the dorms without letting go.

Yuri lets Otabek step in first, who settles into a comfortable position on the bed. He says, “Wanna watch a movie?” though the next thing he does is whip out his phone and sit next to Otabek.

“Sure,” he responds, watching Yuri, who then starts trying to post a photo from what is apparently a while ago, as he has to scroll through walls of nudes and various other ephemera. Despite himself, Otabek starts getting impatient, and after a few minutes, he moves to the computer on the desk. He gets about halfway there when Yuri realizes what he’s doing and bolts from the bed, stopping Otabek in his tracks.

“Uh,” Yuri swallows, feeling very awkward and remorseful. “I don’t want anyone else using my computer.” Otabek simply exhales as the adrenaline leaves his system and returns to the bed. Yuri follows him with his computer, opens it. Already looking in Yuri’s direction, Otabek sees just a flash of Yuri’s screen before he turns it away: the vast majority of his recommended videos are tutorials by some kid wearing a backwards snapback and carrying a skateboard. Otabek thinks he saw palm trees in the background. “Anyway, which one? The bird one?” Otabek nods, and as Yuri turns his computer upon the start of the movie, leans into his shoulder. Yuri finds his hand and half holds it, half plays with it.

“Glad you still like it.”

“Of course,” Otabek says.


	4. determiner ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been awhile, but managed to get back on this. thanks for checking it out whether you're returning or a new reader. hope you enjoy.

“Shit, I can’t believe I forgot my lighter.” Yuri continues checking his pockets in disbelief.

Phichit stifles a snort. “It’s really okay to borrow mine! Here, take it!” He uncrosses his legs and holds it up for Yuri. He sniffs, looks at the ground self-consciously, then accepts it.

Before lighting the joint, Yuri checks out the scenery, suddenly aware of potential onlookers. All he has in the way of lighting is the full moon assisted meagerly by yellow-casting streetlamps, but as far as he can tell, the sidewalks are totally bare. No signs of human life in any direction, for that matter, aside from the lit windows of the dorms. Yuri flicks the lighter experimentally. In the darkness, the lighter ignites like a miniature sun; his night-adjusted eyes are left with an opaque impression in its wake. He finally pops the joint in his mouth and clicks the flame alive. He doesn’t notice the gentle breeze until it’s violently snapping the flame in front of his face, and before he knows it, half the joint is on fire.

“Ah fuck, fuck!” Yuri quickly extinguishes the flame with a couple explosive puffs. Some embers stray to the soft chair in the corner of the porch, which he's quick to pat dead.

Phichit giggles. “Want me to get the cherry going?” Yuri hands him the joint, defeated.

“End my ass,” Yuri mutters to himself, leaning over the balcony into crossed arms. After Phichit draws a long drag, Yuri swivels around to take it. He positions himself behind the barrier and faces the sliding door in case he drops the rolled green, having lost trust in himself for the evening.

“This is good, who’s your guy?”

Yuri inhales modestly, trying not to take too much in front of Phichit, knowing his own limits but alright with it coming off as politeness. “I buy off Otabek,” Yuri admits through a held croak, handing it back. The sound of the door startles him and causes coughed clouds to dissolve into the night.

Phichit’s face lights up, and he removes the joint from his mouth before taking another hit. “Hi Yuuri!”

“Hey.” Yuuri offers a hand in apology as he steps out otherwise unannounced.

“C’mere! Wanna sit?” Phichit gestures to the chair.

“Yeah, actually,” Yuuri sighs, and lets himself relax in the comfy seat.

When Phichit hands the joint back to Yuri, the blonde holds it up for Yuuri. “Want any?”

Yuuri waves away the offer. “No thanks, I don't want to use up what's yours.”

“Hey, if you want some, I want you to have it,” Yuri insists. “Up to you, dude.”

Yuuri looks to Phichit for secondary confirmation, then moves forward before the moment is exhausted. He reaches up and carefully plucks the still-smoking joint from Yuri’s fingers. “Thank you,” he says, and pulls an enormous hit that completely startles Yuri. He unflinchingly holds it as he passes the joint back.

Yuri almost forgets to take it, still processing Yuuri’s deep drag. “I didn’t take you for the smoking type, if I’m being real,” Yuri admits, trying not to seem too impressed. He’s pretty sure a hit like that would have his throat in tatters, and becomes certain when he watches the smoke billow from Yuuri’s lips and nose. Yuuri rests his face on the palm of the arm he has propped on the chair and closes his eyes contentedly. Yuri self consciously turns away from both Yuuri and Phichit as he takes another hit.

When Yuuri’s lungs have air to work with again, he responds, “Yeah, I really like it, I think.”

“You think?” Phichit laughs, taking the still smoldering cherry from Yuri.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Yuuri groans. “I was afraid of trying it before college. I really trust you, though, and you smoked tons right off the bat.”

He tsks. “You’re really putting me on the spot, Yuuri!”

“It’s true, though!” Yuuri quirks a smile and leans up. “Anyway, I went from being afraid to being curious, so I tried it, and I’m really glad I did. Even so, it’s still a little weird to me.”

Phichit mulls it over and nods. “That’s understandable.”

“What do you like about it?” Yuri asks.

“Mm… I feel warm and cozy, like being in a big comfy blanket,” Yuuri thinks aloud. “And somehow, everything is more funny, and it’s easy to come up with ideas for things. Even if they’re not good ideas, it’s fun to write them down and see what I came up with when I’m sober. Sometimes they _are_ good, though, even if they take some editing.”

“Oh yeah,” Phichit laughs, turning to Yuri. “This one time, Yuuri was up late and had a whole paper due the next morning; he was seriously freaking out about it. I smoked him up while he wrote the whole thing in an hour, then fell dead asleep. When he woke up, we read his paper — it was amazing. You could even see the progression of his mental state: he started using weird metaphors and going on a bunch of tangents. But it totally was a paper, and after some quick editing he turned it in just fine.”

Yuuri rubs his face. “You’re making fun of me again…”

“Just getting you back, is all.” Phichit hands the joint to Yuri, then moves behind Yuuri and places his hands on his shoulders. “Now, you stop that. I like seeing your cute face.”

Yuuri looks up, only to see Yuri looking back at him. “You’ll have to stop looking at me like that.” Yuri snorts and leans his head the other way, then finishes the roach to a stub and pockets the rest.

Phichit nuzzles his nose into Yuuri’s neck and rests his arms on his shoulders. “You’re really cute when you're high.”

Yuuri smiles, but doesn't seem wholly relaxed. “I’m sorry I get so quiet.”

“You don't need to say anything.” Phichit kisses his crown. “I'm glad to have you here either way.”

“You ‘n me both,” Yuri says, walking over to sit on Yuuri’s lap. “If this is how you chill, then chill.” Yuuri fidgets his hands while he decides what to do with them, but Yuri grabs them and piles them on his torso, leaning into him. “Is this comfy?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says next to his ear.

Phichit pulls away and procures a pair of earbuds from his jacket pocket. He clicks the jack into his phone and pops the left one in his ear as he walks back to the balcony, taking in the scenery. He slides his jacket off to properly appreciate the refreshing night breeze. When one of his favorite songs starts, he pops his foot behind, tapping and wiggling the sole in time with the beat. The gentle breeze rolls over the trees, causing a murmur that comes up to meet Phichit and sweep his hair away from his forehead.

Yuri only realizes he’s getting lost in observation when he suddenly feels Yuuri’s nose at his neck, followed by Yuuri’s hands slowly inching across his front, pushing fabric and pressing through to skin. The heady feeling it causes mixes with the buzz and spreads through his body; Yuri instinctively leans into it. His own resulting sigh snaps him out of it, and he realizes how weird this might be in context.

“Uh, hang on,” Yuri whispers, “is Phichit cool with this?”

Yuuri nods. “He doesn’t mind PDA, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You sure about that?”

“I once saw people making out on his bed while he was studying in his room, he didn’t even blink. I think he enjoys all kinds of company,” Yuuri laughs.

“Must be, huh.” Yuri looks at Phichit, and sure enough, happens to catch him taking a quick glance at them, a faint smile peeking out from his otherwise neutral expression. Yuri turns to Yuuri and loops an arm around his neck. “You said something about making out?”

Yuuri gives him a lazy grin and lets Yuri close the distance between them. Yuri’s neck is arched upwards, but it’s not too uncomfortable, and he helps Yuuri meet him partway by guiding his face with his hand. They kiss softly and slowly, a warm space in the cool night. Yuri’s awareness collapses to this one focal point even as every nerve feels active and vibrant, reacting to the overlapping sensations in the moment. Yuuri slides his hand under Yuri’s shirt to feel the heat of his core, thumb sliding over his navel. Yuri moves his own hand from Yuuri’s face to his shoulder to get a better hold. The wind blows some of Yuri’s hair into their faces and it startles Yuuri, who gasps and breaks the kiss. He laughs when he realizes what happened; Yuri returns it with a smirk. Now that there’s a break, Yuri notes again that he’s not sure how much time has passed, but it can’t be as long as it’s felt. He also thinks his neck is starting to get stiff.

He moves away to adjust himself on the chair and sits facing Yuuri before finding his lips again. Yuri drapes his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and hums when Yuuri places his hands on Yuri’s thighs, squeezing lightly. Yuuri gives a gentle sigh, a breath through his nose that fills the small space between them. Yuri tries not to flinch whenever his nose accidentally knocks into Yuuri’s glasses, but it doesn’t seem to bother Yuuri, so he relaxes. Yuri moves his hands up to Yuuri’s soft hair, taking shelter from the breeze.

Yuri parts at some point to take in the person in front of him, then leans forward and lays on him, his head on his shoulder. “Sorry, forgot I wasn’t supposed to look at you too much.” 

Yuuri snorts and moves his hands to Yuri’s back. Yuri noses into his neck, then lets himself go limp. He feels an inch from drifting into the ether leaning against him like this, unmoving against a warm face and substantial shoulders, even while exposed in a big soft chair on a balcony at night. It’s just as Yuri is reminding himself not to fall asleep on his classmate that he feels the hands on his back slipping, soon followed by light snoring. He sits up in partial disbelief, inspects him, then looks back at Phichit, who is apparently also witnessing this.

“Aw, our sleeping beauty!” Phichit giggles. He walks over while Yuri carefully climbs off Yuuri. Phichit puts both hands on Yuuri’s face. “Hey, let’s get you to bed.”

Yuuri blinks awake. “Hm?”

“You sure like falling asleep on me,” Yuri jabs with a lopsided smile.

“I wasn’t asleep, though.” Yuri thinks he’s joking, but questions it when Yuuri’s expression doesn’t change. Phichit laughs at that.

“C’mon,” says Phichit, moving his hands to Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuri helps Phichit get Yuuri out of the chair. They walk him to his dorm and ask him for his keys, then manage to figure out which unlocks his room. As soon as Yuuri is in the bed, Yuri can hear snoring again pretty much immediately.

“Goodnight!” Phichit waves. “Thanks for smoking with me.”

“Yeah,” Yuri says, nodding back.

When Yuri hears Phichit’s door closing down the hall, he turns to Yuuri, watches for a couple breaths, then gives him a kiss on the forehead. “Night.”

Δ

“I can’t believe you wore those pants all day today.”

Otabek casts him a glance, then holds up his card and opens the door. Yuri follows behind him. As they’re walking up the stairs, he finally gives in. “What about them?”

Yuri nearly bursts out in laughter. “What about them? Dude.” They briefly stop in the hall before Otabek’s door as he goes through his keys. Yuri tugs on the material next to the gaping hole in the front, by the pocket. “Don’t tell me you don’t notice this.”

“I do,” is all Otabek says, and walks inside.

Yuri follows him, closes the door, and grabs Otabek’s shoulder to hold him in place. He feels for the hole on the jeans; the texture of the fray, the smooth skin between the gap. A couple fingers dive into the hole, down a dip formed by muscle and tendon. “This has been fucking me up. You can’t do this.”

“Sure I can.” Otabek puts his bag on the floor, but otherwise remains completely still. Yuri’s eyebrow twitches, the rocking motion at the top of a rollercoaster. Yuri removes his fingers to put his bag next to Otabek’s. He moves in front of Otabek and pulls him forward by the hole in his pants. Behind Yuri hums all the force of Newton’s Third, and then some. 

He unzips Otabek’s leather jacket with his other hand. When he goes to remove it, a nervous edge to Otabek’s expression stops him. He lets Otabek take it off himself and carefully place it on the desk next to them. Otabek doesn’t even fully face him all the way by the time Yuri yanks at the back of his neck and bites down, hard, leaving marks at the swell where it becomes the shoulder. Otabek’s low grunt is incredibly satisfying and leaves Yuri a bit lightheaded. Yuri dips a hand between Otabek’s pants and briefs and presses into the firm cleft in his ass. His other hand grips Otabek’s wrist when both travel to his hips. Yuri licks a stripe across a chunk of muscle closer to Otabek’s shoulder and bites again, nearly tearing into flesh, trapping Otabek where he is and wrenching a more frantic guttural cry from his throat. 

Yuri lets go of his shoulder and looks him in the eye. “You like that?” Otabek says nothing, lets himself catch his breath before Yuri can take it again. “Hm?” Yuri leans in, sucks on the exposed neck under his chin, trails down to the peek of collarbone above his deep V-neck. The grip on Yuri’s hips tightens, and he backs off Otabek’s chest to look at the hands on him for a moment.

Otabek’s wrist is relinquished only for Yuri to instead take Otabek’s hand into his own and bring it up to his mouth. He sucks on the wrist, gently places a kiss in the center of his palm, then takes two of Otabek’s fingers into his mouth, slowly sliding his way down to the knuckles. Yuri’s eyes open halfway, coyly peeking at Otabek’s expression: even more thoroughly in distress than expected. He knows he can do better, though. He releases Otabek’s fingers, and with a low voice says, “I want these inside me.”

Otabek realizes he’s licking dry lips. When he comes to, he seizes the hair hanging in front of Yuri’s mouth with the glistening hand and crushes their faces together. Yuri yelps, immediately following it with eating Otabek right back. He presses deeper into Otabek’s ass and bucks his hips against his friend’s.

“Yes,” Otabek says against his mouth when they pause for breath. “Yes, Yura.”

Yuri smirks, plants another kiss on Otabek’s mouth before going for his own jeans. Otabek bends for his drawer to pull out a half empty bottle of lube and places it on the desk. He candidly watches Yuri undress the rest of the way, and Yuri lets himself be watched, meeting his heavy gaze. He gets on Otabek’s bed as soon as he’s naked and sits in a kind of butterfly pose, one arm propped behind and legs spread in an inviting diamond, not unlike the posture Otabek often sees him in at the ballet studio.

Otabek brings the lube with him to the bed and Yuri immediately leans even further back, watching the bottle. Otabek pops it and pours lube generously around two fingers, spreads it around. He places the bottle back on the desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yuri shifting subtly. Instead of testing how many different flavors of anticipation he can work out, Otabek settles in and places a gentle hand on Yuri’s thigh reassuringly, the other kept raised.

“Tell me to stop at any time.”

“Okay, let’s do it, though.” Yuri’s legs open a bit wider as if for emphasis, now at an angle that looks almost unnatural to Otabek.

“Alright, if you’re comfortable like that.”

“I’m good, c’mon.”

Otabek glances at the open thigh his hand is resting on, then reaches his other hand down and spreads lube around the entrance. It’s cold; Yuri shivers under his other hand. Otabek slides his fingers across and around, giving in to his earlier temptation, switching from prepping to teasing. He watches as it pays off and Yuri gets even more worked up. Something about Yuri’s expression makes Otabek chuckle.

“ _What_?”

“Ready?”

“Please,” Yuri leans forward to kiss him, a simple confirmation, right on his lips.

That's all Otabek needs to slide one finger in, slowly, though it goes in easy. Yuri sighs a held breath. Otabek buries it to the knuckle, then dives in again, curving and pressing. Yuri rolls his shoulders back as Otabek develops a rhythm and feels around for what seems to elicit the best reaction. 

“Shit, _yeah_ …” Yuri’s voice lilts in a way Otabek hasn’t heard before. “Keep going, that’s good.”

Otabek watches Yuri as his complexion shifts, blood dripping into milk. Yuri rocks with the motion, trying to get more out of it as if it’s not just one finger. One hand goes to his own junk to leisurely mess around while he gets fucked. It used to help him relax if he was having trouble, but even now it’s stayed a habit.

Yuri looks at Otabek, a dare. “I’m good, gimme the other one now.”

“Really? It hasn’t been long.”

“Quit stalling.”

Otabek looks down, as if it’ll mean anything. Against his better judgement, he cautiously brushes the other finger against Yuri’s entrance, then inserts it close to the first knuckle. He can feel that it’s a bit tight, and sure enough, Yuri holds back a hiss, but then immediately after reaches down and forces it in all the way. 

“Agh!” Yuri’s eyes clamp closed.

“Are you alright?” Otabek reflexively tries to remove his hand, but Yuri has it fixed in place.

Two flashes of green reappear, frantic. “K-Keep going,” is all he says, looking at Otabek like meeting a challenge. His expression begins to genuinely relax somewhat as he gets used to it. Otabek can still feel Yuri tensing around him, but as he tentatively starts moving again, very slowly, the lube at least helps to facilitate the motion. “Yeah… Fuck,” Yuri sighs, “you’re so good inside me.”

Yuri bites his lip, lets his head sink forward. His hands go to Otabek’s thighs, gripping equally for purchase and for something to think about while he closes his eyes. Otabek monitors Yuri closely instead of risking his ire with any more attempts at restraint. He experimentally places a hand on the back of his head in a comforting gesture, and it pays off when Yuri leans forward the rest of the way, his forehead alighting on the junction of Otabek’s neck and shoulder.

“Mn, Beka…” Yuri’s breath streaks across Otabek’s chest, dipping into the space his sternum creates and down into his shirt. His nose brushes along his skin, picking up some of the collecting sweat, and he mouths close to where he left a mark before, still slightly tender. Instead of seeking to shock Otabek again, he idly laps at the tight curve while getting lost in the rhythm below.

Yuri’s hand moves from Otabek’s thigh to squeeze at his shoulder, then drag down his chest, past his abs, arriving at the pants that had been calling to him all day. His fingers work at the button until it relents with a satisfying pop. He wastes no time getting to the zipper, seeking the warmth within. Otabek breathes with Yuri’s touch, the taut skin against Yuri’s mouth gently shifting with each inhale, and begins to curl his own fingers inside Yuri. Yuri arches, twists, trying to guide Otabek while redirecting the energy building inside him. He reaches deeper and grips Otabek, doing what he can to transfer some of what Otabek is doing to him.

“Yura,” Otabek breathes, fingers weaving into Yuri’s hair. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

Yuri doesn’t say anything for almost a minute. “Go faster,” he eventually manages. Otabek obliges, and Yuri, breath already strained, whines into his friend’s neck.

“Holy shit… Yeah.” Yuri’s hand moves from Otabek’s thigh to his cheek. “Hey… I—”

A knock on the door causes Yuri to shout and look at the source, defensively yanking his hands back to cluster at his center. Yuri’s sudden reaction makes Otabek startle right after him.

“Whoa! Haha,” a voice, muffled, presents itself beyond the frame. “Now a bad time to get some food in town?”

Otabek sighs. He can almost feel the anger radiating off Yuri’s face. He definitely feels Yuri clench in irritation. “Tell him to fuck off,” he says, probably loud enough to hear the next room over.

“Let’s go later,” Otabek offers to the door.

“Okay! Only when you’re ready! Hahahaha!” The two students hear the echoes of the third’s laugh grow more distant as it travels down the hall.

Yuri pulls Otabek out from under him. “I didn’t know you were friends,” Yuri spits.

“We’re not enemies.”

Silence. Yuri doesn’t like the growing glint in Otabek’s eye. Suddenly, he’s raising a couple of thumbs and forefingers.

“ _It’s J—_ ” All the air is knocked clean out of Otabek with a swift suckerpunch to his nose. No sooner is Otabek groaning in pain and holding his nose than Yuri is regretting his sudden impulse.

“Ah! Fuck!! Shit, fuck, are you okay? Shit, dude.” Yuri cradles Otabek’s head in his palms while he watches tears stream from tightly closed eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Otabek lightly coughs and blood burbles out from beneath his hands. “Oh. Am I bleeding?”

“Yeah, let’s get you to the, uh—”

Otabek smiles. “Nice.”

Δ

Tiny bells hanging from the door jingle pleasantly as two fresh faces enter the comic shop. An employee offers assistance as they pass through the aisles, but really, they’re mostly here to meander, possibly find something new of interest. In the back, signs point to a basement section with a reading area and tabletop games, so they head downstairs. Yuri definitely does not expect to see Yuuri there with Phichit, both with a nose in a comic book, and Otabek nearly bumps into Yuri as the blonde cleanly stops on sight. Yuri almost manages to turn around, hoping he and Otabek can avoid them out of convenience, when Phichit looks up and smiles.

“Yuri!” Yuuri looks over for a moment, confused, before following Phichit’s eyes and recognizing the blonde standing a few meters away. “Hi! It’s good to see you here.”

“Hey,” Yuri walks up just a couple paces, still hoping to escape the social obligation somehow. “We saw this place just opened up and, y’know, got curious.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you liked comics!”

“Yeah, well,” Yuri drifts off, then considers again that he’s looking at both Yuuri _and_ Phichit. “Uh, actually, I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“Really?” Phichit asks incredulously, looking to Yuuri for confirmation.

“We’re best friends,” Yuuri states, laughing. “For that matter, I didn’t know _you_ knew each other.”

“Oh my god, Yuuri, you’re very silly.” Phichit lightly bats at his shoulder. “This is my friend from ballet!” Phichit watches the realization dawn on Yuuri, then looks back at Yuri in a way that almost seems like he’s expecting something to click in him, too. Yuri goes over everything in his head, and finally does put two and two together that, as best friends, they probably tell each other everything, and that ballet might be a degree more awkward, now. What’s even worse for him is that Otabek is also watching all this transpire, and when Yuuri starts nervously biting his lip, Yuri is at a loss for what to do.

“Have we met before?” Otabek finally says, breaking the very dense ice. He doesn’t move forward, but his atmosphere is as friendly and inviting as it gets.

“I don’t think so,” Yuuri says, lowering the comic book.

“I’m Otabek. Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, too,” Yuuri smiles, relaxing a bit. “I’m Yuuri, but…” He gets too caught up in how to say “but you already knew that” in a way that doesn’t carry any unfortunate implications, and quickly gives up.

“Now that we’re all here, we should take a picture together! Right, Yuuri?”

“Oh, sure,” he says, standing up with Phichit then looking over to Yuri to check his reaction. Yuri figures this is as good a time as any to get closer, so he and Otabek huddle by the big chairs as Phichit readies his camera.

“Yuri, you should get over here!” Phichit directs. “And Otabek — yeah, and Yuuri, you get in back cause you’re tall. Okay, ready? Cheese!” He closely examines the photo as soon as he can.

“Let me see,” Yuri says, huddling close.

“Wow! Hey, this is pretty good even without filters. Look at how cute you are, Yuuri! And…” Phichit turns to Otabek only to witness the impressively sour expression twisting his face despite attempts to dull it. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“Mm. I don't usually like pictures of me.”

“Aw, but you look so handsome! Want me to put a sticker over your face?” Phichit demonstrates, and Otabek grunts in approval.

Yuri looks over at Otabek and gently asks, “Can I have the original?” Otabek nods.

Δ

Yuri tugs on his sleeves, enjoying the springtime privilege of fresh air traveling across his skin from the open window. He looks over when Yuuri moves to do the same. “Is that some linguistics shit?”

Yuuri removes an earbud and looks over at Yuri. “Sorry?”

“That,” he repeats, and points. “Your homework?”

“Oh, yes, this is for my phonetics class,” Yuuri says, and lets Yuri inspect the piece of paper.

“What the fuck?” Yuri’s eyes narrow. “What language is this?”

“It’s just IPA — that’s uh, the International Phonetic Alphabet. It's not a language at all, but an orthographic means of representing any sound from any language.”

“Uh huh,” Yuri continues inspecting the symbols. “So, how many languages do you speak?”

Yuuri can't help but laugh. “That’s like asking a vet how many pets they own.” When Yuri only responds with a stare, Yuuri follows with, “Y’know… It’s just that it could be one, or it could be a bunch; linguists don’t _necessarily_ know many languages, or even more than one—”

“Okay, you coulda just said that.” Yuri turns to lean against Yuuri’s shoulder while he goes back to his phone.

After a beat, Yuuri mutters, “I do know a couple conlangs.”

“Hm? What's a conlang?”

“A constructed language; um, as opposed to a natural language like English, Japanese, or Russian… It's an intentionally made and planned language.”

“So, a fake language, basically?”

“Conlangs aren't fake,” he fires back so quickly that Yuri isn't at all prepared for it. It's like stepping on a sleeping lion’s tail. “Conlangs can have a rich lexicon and even richer syntactic capabilities; conlangs are often created in response to the weaknesses of natural languages.”

“Oh,” is all Yuri can manage. 

Yuuri huffs a breath. “Also, they're pretty fun.”

“What about ‘em?”

Yuuri glances at the ceiling contemplatively. “Anything that frustrates you about language, any arbitrary rules or awkwardness or lack of expressive potential, can be overcome with a good conlang. If learning a new language — or even adopting neologisms into one’s vocabulary — creates new schemas for your psychological disposal, then just imagine what’s possible with the power of intention! Even if you think a grammatical concept might be interesting to play with, or a word might feel good to speak or hear, you can realize it with a conlang.” He smiles bittersweetly. “I’m not that good at conlanging, but, yeah, it’s fun.”

“Wait, so, _you_ make whole new languages?”

“Yeah!” Now Yuuri’s eyes are really shining. “I’ve done a few little projects here and there since I was a kid, but right now I'm mainly working on my big conlang project, building the lexicon and stuff.”

“What are you gonna do with it?”

“Mm, I dunno. Like I said, I’m not great at conlanging, so yeah, it’s basically just for fun.”

Yuri inspects him for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me,” Yuri says, turning to face Yuuri completely. “You’re bullshitting me, whether you mean to or not. You obviously know what you’re talking about, and you’re really fucking into it, and you’re doing something with it.” 

“But how do you know?”

“You were bullshitting me when you were trying to say you aren’t cute, too,” Yuri responds, leaning in and giving Yuuri a soft kiss, as if to make a point. But being this close makes him want to kiss him again, and there comes a point at which kissing is losing its original purpose and melting into simple willfulness.

Yuri suddenly remembers Yuuri was doing work. “Are you busy?” 

Yuuri shakes his head and places his notebook to the side. “I have time, and...this is good.”

“Cool,” Yuri breathes, laying his arms on Yuuri’s shoulders, and continues their gentle, lazy kissing. He can’t believe how soft Yuuri’s lips are, or how good Yuuri’s hands are on him, full of raw intent and specific desire once drawn out from all the layers of hesitation. Sometimes his glasses can be annoying, but Yuri would never ask him to take them off, for both their benefit. Yuri lets the pleasant buzz spread over him as he brushes his thumb back and forth on Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri sneaks a brief look at his classmate, now able to get a glimpse of Yuri’s gracefully closed eyes right in front of his. He slides his hands to Yuri’s thighs, then to his waist, tucking under his shirt to feel the warm skin underneath. Yuri hums in approval, soaking up the sensation. Outside the door, the echoing sound of voices in the hall permeates through the barrier, followed by distant footsteps. The distraction makes Yuri smirk briefly, reminds him to be self conscious.

He pulls away to shift around, pushes Yuuri onto his back, climbs on top of him. He sits comfortably in his lap, though the pressure seems to be doing something to Yuuri, and from this vantage point Yuri can clearly see the light haze that’s overcome him. He runs his hands from Yuuri’s shoulders to his chest, where he gently kneads, then down his front and back up, past his neck to cradle his ears as he leans in to meet Yuuri’s mouth again. 

Yuuri slowly exhales, now fully lost in the moment. Yuri moves to kiss his cheek, the space behind his ear, down his neck, bites at the intersection with his shoulder — Yuuri actually cries out, which surprises both of them. Yuri grins and, anticipating his next move, holds Yuuri’s biceps to keep him from covering his own mouth. When Yuuri bites his lip as a precaution, Yuri adds another set of teeth to pry it out and allow his tongue to barge in. Yuuri’s hands return to Yuri’s ass to pull him a bit closer and feel the curves so close to more sensitive areas. 

Yuri is enjoying this and all, but he wants more out of it. He shifts his knees and hips and starts grinding on Yuuri, who is not at all prepared for it. Yuuri whines something into Yuri’s mouth, possibly an interjection. Another attempted utterance is snapped upwards like water wrung out of a towel when Yuri grinds harder, slower. Yuri leans away from his mouth just enough to fully enjoy the desperate sounds coming from it. He moves with the grip on his ass when it tightens, more intentionally directs, but the friction on his own junk is making it difficult to keep a clear head and control his movements as finely as he'd like.

Leaning up to gain a better vantage point, Yuri looks down, soaking up the view of the flushed, lightly panting person in front of him. He admires his own work, having gotten Yuuri to this point, but still thinks it needs a little push. He lowers his voice and leans in his ear again to ask, “Want me to give you head?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, though he seems surprised, meeting Yuri’s eyes as if to double check. “Want me to move?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Without delay, Yuri gets to work on unbuttoning his shirt, gradually revealing the dark cotton layer underneath. He slides his hands under as soon as he’s able — Yuuri jolts.

“My hands aren’t cold,” Yuri states like a fact Yuuri just isn’t picking up on.

“They feel cold,” Yuuri insists, though heat transfer is beginning to lessen the shock.

“It’s warm in here.”

“ _You have cold hands_.”

“Do I?” Yuuri nods. “I mean, all the time?” Yuuri nods. “Huh. How about this?” He lifts his shirt partway and noses his middle. Yuuri jumps instantly, scrambles to push on Yuri’s shoulders.

“Y-Your nose is cold too, ah-and that tickles!”

“How about this, then?” Yuri pushes forward against his hands to give him a gentle bite. Yuuri gasps, but doesn’t say anything else, so Yuri gives him another, below his navel. Yuuri’s hands go from pushing to limp, then from limp to gently cradling the back of Yuri’s neck. Yuri lets himself be nudged further until his face is completely buried, so he brings his hands to Yuuri’s sides and nuzzles around, nipping here and there. He experimentally licks into his navel, and is surprised with a deep groan rumbling over his face. Yuri licks again, then hears as much as feels a more desperate groan when he sticks his tongue as far as it goes. One of Yuri’s hands reaches for a nipple and gently rolls it as he takes a few more dives with his tongue. As much as Yuri is enjoying all the noises Yuuri is making, he's going to suffocate if he doesn't come up for air, so he separates himself with a gasp and wipes his mouth. He looks up to see Yuuri turned towards the ceiling, a deep shade of pink, biting his lip and trying his best to breathe. Yuri moves his other hand to his classmate’s crotch, feeling the building heat underneath, and Yuuri finally manages to meet his eyes again. 

Yuri sits back up and repositions himself a bit further away to manipulate Yuuri’s pants. “Okay,” he says, efficiently unbuttoning his pants and unzipping his fly, “lift your hips.” In one smooth motion, he pulls both his black jeans and blue briefs down to his ankles. The suddenness of the obscene action despite his eagerness makes Yuuri look at the wall, fighting all temptation to cover his face. “This alright?” Yuri looks right into him, not making a move until he looks back and nods. 

Yuri takes a moment to appreciate the sight as he slides his hands over smooth thighs. He leans in and gently mouths at one, eliciting another gasp. Yuri smirks at how easy it is to get reactions out of him. While he's here, Yuri reassuringly nuzzles the crease between Yuuri’s belly and thigh and kisses it. “You ready for this?” Another nod as Yuuri continues looking down at the sheet of blond hovering over his crotch.

Upon receiving the go-ahead, Yuri glides forward and presses his mouth right onto Yuuri, who sighs with the hot contact. Yuri travels up and down, taking his time, sucking here and there. Yuuri can’t consistently maintain eye contact anymore and settles for cradling Yuri’s head in his hand and closing his eyes. His other arm goes to lazily cover his deepening breaths. Then Yuri starts using his tongue a whole lot more and Yuuri can’t help but squirm; every other heavy breath becomes a vocalization. “Oh, Yuri… That’s — that’s good…”

Yuuri’s fingers thread into Yuri’s silky hair, find a comfortable spot within. Every now and then all of Yuuri tenses slightly, a repeat false alarm, and it's honestly kind of annoying, Yuri thinks. Yuuri makes every effort to regulate his breathing instead of unconsciously holding it every time he tenses, but it’s becoming more and more difficult. Yuri quickens his pace, seeing just how much he can push Yuuri before he collapses. He mainly focuses on the task in front of him, but sometimes looks up at him, at what he's creating. There is something elegant and powerful about him like this. He's not sure how many others — if any — have seen him in such a state, but he's certain many would feel similarly. He muses that if Yuuri could channel it, he could be quite a force, in some way. For now, Yuri keeps switching up his tactics occasionally, trying this and that, testing Yuuri’s reactions.

“Right there, please, keep going…” Yuri mercilessly goes for it, pushing, pushing, seemingly tireless. Yuuri lightly rolls his hips, trying not to interfere with Yuri’s grasp of a sweet spot but unable to restrain his need. He keeps muttering sentences half composed of interjections and choked gasps, and occasionally Yuri’s name, he thinks. Suddenly a spark ignites, and as it travels down the fuse Yuuri’s hand dives deeper into Yuri’s hair and grips it. Yuri’s fingers dig into Yuuri’s thighs, and the shock elicits a more forceful buck. Then all motion collapses to trembling; hidden muscles stuttering final breaths under Yuri’s hands. Yuuri wails into his sleeve, bites down hard on his lip, diverts the rest of the energy into a moan that slowly dissipates. When Yuuri’s hand falls off Yuri’s head, Yuri wipes his mouth on Yuuri’s thigh and sidles right next to him.

Yuuri is still catching his breath when he says, “Thank you… Thank you.” Yuri watches him, wondering if he’s going to conk out or just seems it.

Regardless, he asks, “Want your pants back? You fine like this?” Yuuri makes a soft sound, doesn’t move. Good enough for him. Yuri figures he should at least pull the blankets up, so he grabs the sheet and covers them to the waist. He stretches out, yawns; Yuuri’s drowsiness is contagious, mixing with the lingering arousal. Yuri pulls on his pants’ drawstring and reaches a hand down. 

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he reflects idly. “Why are you in doing work?” He gets another gentle grunt in response, and keeps touching himself as he goes over the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. any and all comments are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Very inspired in part by [this mathematicians AU](http://radialarch.tumblr.com/post/157127480001).
> 
> Betas:  
> [ikkoros.tumblr.com](http://ikkoros.tumblr.com/)  
> [archiveofourown.org/users/kavsdick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kavsdick)


End file.
